The Fire
by Shalla Bal
Summary: Charlie tries to seduce Monroe to distract him so that she can steal files on the Patriots that are in his possession. But is it all just a trick to swindle Bass, or is something more going on in Charlie's heart? This story came into my mind as a two-part tale told from Monroe's point of view. Charloe! I can't quit this pairing. Cancellation, schmancellation!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Bass Monroe pulled up a seat and ordered a whiskey, neat, from the impeccably subservient bartender. It was nice to be served again, and treated with deference, in any context. This was just one of the many things Monroe missed about the Militia, the Republic…but maybe it was the most important one. That feeling that he had power over others made him, in turn, sense that he had an identity and a purpose, irrefutably. It took all of the chaos in his mind and heart and turned it into simplicity, clarity.

But this momentary lapse into that clear focus was interrupted when Charlie Matheson appeared in a devastating black cocktail dress and sat down beside him. As soon as Monroe saw Charlie in that body-hugging sheath, her hair swept up in a loose twist that let soft tendrils frame her gorgeous face, and that irrepressible spark of trouble glittering in her eyes, chaos again consumed his every thought.

"A glass of champagne for the lady?" The barkeep asked, grinning in an artificially pleased way that made Monroe want to burst out laughing.

"Of course," Charlie purred, sneering as soon as the man turned his back. "Why are we still here?" she demanded of Bass in a judgmental hiss he found absurdly alluring. He'd long since ceased trying to deny to himself the effect she had on him, as it took enough effort to conceal it from her. So he let himself enjoy her pissed off demeanor and stunning appearance while defaulting to sullen and self-satisfied retorts externally.

_We__'__re still here because I can__'__t stop looking at you in that dress, and there__'__s nowhere I__'__d rather be than in this moment_, Bass thought. "Settle down, princess," he said out loud, "We have to stay the night to avoid drawing suspicion. We're guests. Why don't you try committing yourself to the mission instead of whining about being ensnared in the lap of luxury? When was the last time you were this well fed and cared for?"

"I don't care about being cared for," Charlie snipped, rolling her eyes impatiently. "I just want to get this information back to Miles so we can hit the Patriots back as hard as possible, as soon as possible." Bass knew that she was past ready for this conflict with the Patriots to be over. This last disaster with Jason had stolen the last remnant of happiness from her light blue eyes in a way that twisted his heart. She was exhausted and hollow. That, Monroe could identify with.

Monroe and Charlie had come to a fancy political function in Austin with all of the major Patriot movers and shakers in attendance. Posing as a wealthy couple looking to donate significantly to support the "US" cause, they had infiltrated the event, casing any number of guests through a deft combination of flattery, boasting, and flirtation when it was needed. Then they'd hit a few of the Patriots' rooms, stealing every file of intel they could get their hands on. The whole stack was presently coiled up in Monroe's bag back in the room he and Charlie were supposedly sharing. Charlie was obviously annoyed that he had the files tucked away among his belongings, as she would have preferred to be the one in control. Yet another thing they had in common, Bass mused.

"I want those files in _my_ hands, and I want to take them back to Willoughby tonight," Charlie insisted, taking a swig of champagne and making a face.

"It's not going to happen, Charlotte," Monroe assured her, standing and downing the last of his drink. "It'll all work out fine this way. The files are safe with me and they'll be coming back home with us in the morning. Where we can make a getaway without it actually _looking_ like we're making a getaway." He paused, catching her gaze intently. "Charlie, trust me."

"God, I hate it when you say that," Charlie replied anxiously, distrustfully. "Don't you think those Patriots are going to go back to their rooms tonight and notice that everything we took is gone?"

"Look around," Bass suggested, letting his own gaze flick around the lavishly appointed party scene, with hoards of overdressed Patriot saps falling over themselves in sycophantic, narcissistic merriment. "No one here is sober enough to notice a damn thing when they head back and collapse into their beds to dream the dreams of the incredibly stupid and easily swindled."

"I'm going to bed," Monroe stated simply, stalking off with a perfectly insincere haughty attitude. When he arrived back at the room, he stared blankly at the big, comfortable bed with its many soft pillows and billion-thread-count duvet. Well, he reasoned, chances were that Charlie wouldn't even come back here tonight. She'd probably go back to Willoughby alone if she was that intolerant of staying. So what did she care if he slept in the bed? Finders, keepers.

And anyway, if she did show up, she could have the bed and he could move to the floor. Shaking his head, he thought to himself that there wasn't another human on the planet he'd ever do that for. The idea wouldn't even occur to him. Charlie was special, but he had to try not to dwell overly on it. To wish for impossible things…

Bass had expected to fall asleep instantly, but somehow the extravagance of the bed felt wrong after so many nights on the hard ground or rickety cots, and he couldn't stop thinking about Charlie, her soft, lost eyes, or what she might be doing right now. Frustrated, he sat up and yanked his shirt off, rifling a hand through his hair roughly before flopping back down and squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to stop this futile contemplation. She was haunting him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he slipped off into a restless sleep that was interrupted when the door clicked open.

Instinctively, Bass jolted upright and had his rifle up and trained on the figure in the doorway before another second had passed. But it was only Charlie, pursing her lips and shaking her head. "Hey," he remarked, surprised. "I didn't expect to see you again tonight."

"I'm just full of surprises," Charlie replied smoothly, shutting the door behind her.

"Hey, I can sleep on the floor," Bass suggested, trying to subtly straighten out his mussed hair, uncharacteristically self-conscious.

"Don't bother," Charlie told him, and then did something very strange: she unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor, revealing a black, semi-sheer slip. She kicked off her shoes and looked up at him through lowered lashes, with a demeanor that was downright come-hither.

"What are you doing?" Monroe asked, his heart starting to pound automatically.

Silently, Charlie climbed onto the bed and then sat squarely in his lap. Monroe's head felt like it was spinning. What was her game?

"Charlie, what the—"

She cut him off, murmuring coquettishly, "I've seen how you look at me." She put her hands on his chest and waited for his reaction. Well, if she'd noticed him looking, she knew he wanted her. His mind fumbled pathetically against the desire she was awakening in him more and more with each second that passed.

Then, almost imperceptibly, Bass noticed Charlie's eyes flit over to the corner of the room, where his leather satchel lay. So _that__'__s_ what this was. He didn't know if he was more disappointed, angry, or sad.

"You want those files," Monroe stated firmly, sliding out from underneath her and glaring at her resentfully.

"What's that got to do with this?" Charlie asked, pouting slightly. This was infuriating.

"You were going to what, seduce me, try and gain my trust, then grab my bag while I was sleeping and run off?" Monroe quickly ascertained her plan, as much as it pained him.

Defeated, Charlie frowned and sighed. "I didn't know what else to do."

But something in her disappointed expression seemed to reflect more than just a girl whose plan had just failed.

"Wait a minute," Monroe said suddenly, reaching out to cup her face in his open hand, "There's more to it than that, isn't there?" Was it possible that she had more than one reason for wanting to be with him tonight? Hope lanced his heart as she avoided his eyes.

"No," she replied after a long, pregnant pause. "All I wanted was to use you and steal from you. Just like you do to everyone else. About time you got a taste of your own medicine."

But Bass could see through her facade of pride and habitual hatred. Some other sadness lurked below, a layer to her melancholy he'd failed to detect previously because he'd assumed it was impossible. There was a repressed longing evident in Charlie's face, in her nervous posture sitting there on his bed.

"I don't believe you," Monroe said finally, staring her down as he waited for her response.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Charlie's answer came swiftly enough as she leaned forward and kissed Monroe, causing a shock of pleasure to go through him as his strong arms encircled her instantly. She pulled back and pressed her forehead to his, whispering, "what's wrong with me?"

Aha. That was one of Monroe's own favorite questions to himself of late. And in the past, he'd thought himself incapable of feeling so uncertain of the logic in his own motives.

"Nothing," Monroe said, his breath ragged from the urgency he felt pumping through his blood at the idea of grabbing her again and letting loose every impulse he had flinched against since he'd first recognized his obsession for her taking root. "There's nothing wrong with you. I feel this, too."

"You have no idea how I feel," Charlie said, sitting back a little. "_I _barely know. I think I've lost myself, or I'm trying to destroy myself out of some kind of guilt or—"

"It's not that. And don't underestimate how well I know you," Monroe stated. "What do you think I feel for you?"

"Lust?" Charlie asked, seeming fairly confident this was correct and cut and dry.

"Is that all you think I'm capable of?"

"So you're saying you _don__'__t_ lust after me?" Charlie smirked. Dammit, she had an ego to rival his own.

"Charlotte," Monroe said, reaching behind her head and removing the clip from her hair, loving the way it fell gently around her shoulders, "Of course I do. But it's more than that. I haven't been able to get you off my mind…ever since that night in the swimming pool…remember when you came skulking through the darkness trying to kill me, and that bounty hunter snagged you and tied you up down there with me?"

She laughed darkly. "What turned you on, the fact that I was trying to kill you or the bondage element?"

"Neither," Monroe replied, "When I opened my eyes and saw you there, so defiant…you were like this beautiful, perfect, avenging angel. Even though it was _me_ you wanted revenge against, I couldn't deny what you stirred up in me. Maybe, on some level, I've always felt it, since the first time I saw you."

"You mean when you were holding my family prisoner?" Charlie asked, anger flashing in her eyes at the memory. But even that distaste for him on a basic level that had always characterized her attitude towards him was now complicated by hesitation, questioning, curiosity. Need.

"I'm sorry for the way I used to be," Monroe sighed. "I wish you could believe that I've changed. You're not some object to me and you never could be. I _need_ you, Charlie." He didn't even know how to put his true feelings into words, especially since they kept growing by the moment.

She gazed at him wonderingly. "Alright. So prove it."

He needed no further invitation. Sweeping her back into his embrace, Monroe captured her lips in a kiss that exploded with unbridled passion and overwhelming emotion. Charlie fell easily on top of him as he entangled his hand in her hair. He was taken aback and spurred on by her own enthusiasm, as if she had shared this cruel magnetic draw between them all along as well, and now it was too much to resist. He flipped them so that she was under him and felt chills as her hands traveled all over him, pressing against his bare chest before raking up and down his back. Their hearts were pounding incessantly against each other as their kisses became deeper, even more searching.

This seemed to go on forever, until Monroe felt he was drowning and never wanted to come up for air. To have wanted her this badly, thinking he would never be able to touch her, and then to have this happen…it was more otherworldly and thrilling than he could have imagined. In a near-seamless transition that they effected without consulting one another in the least, various items of clothing were discarded and he had the full run of her body as she drove him completely insane with her every move. Maybe now, he thought as he watched her throw her head back and moan helplessly, reaching the height of ecstasy. Maybe now she understood how much he needed her and what she really meant to him.

She didn't run away afterwards as he'd feared, but lay her head against his shoulder, her body flung diagonally across the lavish bed, taking deep breaths and not looking at him. He stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes and then couldn't stand the suspense of silence any longer.

"I've never been with anyone like that," Monroe confided.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, roused from whatever reverie had her compelled to quiet contemplation.

"I mean, I've never felt anything like that in my entire life," he explained, knowing, however, that she already understood what he meant. The intensity, the closeness and perfection of possessing each other was so unbearably exquisite. "Have you?"

She still wouldn't meet his eyes. "No."

"It's not just that I liked that black dress so much, either…or that slip," Bass remarked, trying to suck a little tension out of the air.

"I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I came in here tonight," Charlie admitted, finally rolling over and propping her chin on his chest, looking up into his eyes. She seemed shocked by her own surrender.

"Neither did I," Monroe agreed, stroking her back.

"I'm terrified. This is totally crazy."

"It's not _that_ crazy," Bass argued futilely.

"Do you really want to get into those details right now?" Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Let's see. Did Monroe want to discuss all of his horrific character flaws and past mistakes, and how they ought to hold her back from him, right now? Definitely not. Possibly not ever. What was the point, anyway? It couldn't be changed and didn't change anything.

Ignoring the question, Bass replaced it with another couple. "What happens now? Do you want the files? I don't care, you can have them."

"Shut up," Charlie snapped. "I do trust you with them. That's how I know I'm losing my mind."

"How about big picture stuff…what happens now?"

"I don't know," Charlie answered. "I know I had no problem at all with dying until very recently. But that changed when I thought Tom Neville was going to kill me. For Jason."

Monroe kissed her forehead, understanding the horror of that ordeal. He let her talk.

"I found out that I_ did _want to live, I did want to fight for what was right, for myself, and for everyone else who wanted to be free." Her voice halted. "That night by the train…when Neville had his gun on me again and you stopped him…were you protecting Miles, or were you protecting me?"

"What do you think?" Monroe replied easily. "I would have destroyed Tom in an instant for even _thinking_ about hurting you. Miles can take care of himself." Charlie nodded, sensing the truth in his words, the same knowledge that had passed wordlessly between them that evening after he'd saved her, everyone else around them oblivious to the deep connection between herself and Bass.

"I can take care of myself, too," Charlie pointed out pridefully.

"True" Bass answered, "but that's not gonna stop me from protecting you anyway. I think…I think that I love you, Charlie." He looked at her lying there with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks, her lips parted as she took a breath of surprise, and concluded, "I _know_ I love you."

Charlie shuddered at the power of this confession and shook her head, as if trying to stem the tide of forbidden thoughts running through her mind, racing through to her heart. "I never thought I would go against everything I believe in," she said, "To be with _you_. It doesn't make any sense."

She sat up and brushed her cheek quickly, making him wonder if she was crying. He put his hand on her shoulder but she shook it off. "Don't," she ordered, getting out of bed and putting her slip back on. One of the straps had broken in the heat of their encounter.

Monroe stood as well and pulled his pants on. "Charlie," he said simply, "don't walk away from me."

"I have to!" Charlie exclaimed, suddenly seeming torn between frustration and despair.

"Why?" he couldn't help pleading, losing the last vestiges of his dignity in one word. Well, what use was dignity, anyway? He'd been walled up in his autocratic solitude for years, and a more miserable bastard had never lived.

"Because," she replied matter-of-factly, still with her back to him. "I'm falling in love with you and I have to stop that from happening."

"You can't stop it, Charlotte," Monroe told her, "trust me. It takes one to know one."

"Quit asking me to trust you already," Charlie complained. "How can I?"

"I don't know. How can you and I be in love? How is any of this happening? But I'm glad it is."

"I can't even look at you right now," Charlie said, shaking her head with a posture and voice indicating a smile she couldn't suppress. "You're giving me that look again, I know it."

"Which one?" Bass inquired, his own features relaxing into an amused expression.

"The one that drives me nuts. The one where you look at me like I'm the only person in the world. And your eyes are basically _florescent_, which is not fair, by the way." She looked back tentatively over her shoulder.

"What,_ this_ look?" Monroe asked, doing a slightly exaggerated version of the longing gaze he'd been throwing her way for quite some time. He often did it even when they were arguing, which retrospectively had probably taken a lot of the believability out of his act of disliking her.

"That's the one," Charlie confirmed, turning to face him and crossing her arms, one gauzy black strap hanging uselessly to one side. "Then comes the worst part. When you call me Charlotte."

"That's your name," Monroe laughed.

"Oh, please," she sneered, "You know what you're doing."

"Well, two can play that game, Charlotte," Bass retorted. "What about the way _you_ look at _me_?"

"How's that?"

"Like I'm the most exasperating human being in the world." He'd never know why he found that sassy, challenging glare of hers so intoxicating, but there it was. "And what about the way you _dress_? Why do you have to have that sexy little bare midriff every single day?"

"I'm not trying to be sexy," Charlie defended herself, straining his credulity.

"Please. You know what you're doing," Bass observed, "so who's fault is it that I can't keep my hands off you?"

"You _are _the most exasperating human being in the world," Charlie sighed. "But I don't want you to keep your hands off me. And, If I take one more step towards you, I'm going to fall back into bed with you. I can't."

"Because I'm a bad man?" Monroe asked.

"That's part of it," Charlie confirmed.

"Because this is going to change everything?"

"That's the rest of it," she answered, swallowing hard and shivering all of a sudden.

"Hey," Bass murmured, closing the space between them and hugging her close. "You okay?"

"You ruined everything," Charlie breathed against him. "I wasn't going to take that step towards you, but you did it for me."

"Sorry," he said tenderly, playing with her hair and enjoying the hot press of her cheek against his heart. "I couldn't help it."

"It's too late now," Charlie replied, leaning up to kiss him with a fire that seemed to tell stories about exactly how much everything had changed within the space of just an hour. There was no turning back now from their love.

Monroe would never put himself first again or blink at any hurdle he had to cross to get to Charlie. They were bound so intricately that he knew it had to be that way between them forever. He'd fight harder for his own redemption and to defeat the Patriots, all for Charlie, than he'd ever strived for anything. And against a universe that had seemingly been assembled intentionally and distinctly to prevent them from being together, there was nothing that could ever part Monroe and Charlie now.


End file.
